


Lesson

by Lambyrt



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Body Horror, Gore, M/M, Violence, brief daddy kink, piercing trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lambyrt/pseuds/Lambyrt
Summary: Nathan fucks up.He always fucks up.He's the world's best at fucking up.Mark isn't letting it slide this time.





	Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ny'all I haven't written fanfic in like, 13 years. I'm probably not the Best at these characters but it's enjoyable to write so I hope u enjoy too. <3

Sometimes he loses time. It's one of those times. He can't remember the last fifteen hours, but his nose and head hurt-- must've done too much coke, forgotten to take his medicine. He stumbles out of bed, groaning and reaching around for his lamp. He manages to push it off of the desk; the sound of shattering glass making him curse under his breath. It's a party night; it's a night he has to help Mark. He finds his way to the bathroom; slicing his foot open on a piece of glass but unphased. He limps to the bathroom, reaching around for the light switch. It finally clicks and he shields his eyes, squinting hard. Ugh.  
  
Finding his toothbrush he starts his routine, though it's quickly interrupted when he looks at himself in the mirror. The bloody nose is nothing new; the blood caked all over his-- Mark's shirt and porcelain skin. He's seen it a thousand times. What he hasn't seen before now, though, is the new piece of metal that sits on his nose. He slowly reaches up, pushing soft fingers against the decorative septum ring. He hisses through gritted teeth as it stings. Must've fucked it up in his sleep.  
  
It's... it's whatever. He doesn't have time to care about this. He has work to do; a famous photographer waiting on him. He cleans up his face, twisting the jewelry out to clean the piercing before putting it back in; cleaned of blood. It doesn't stop the raw piercing from bleeding like a fountain, though, much to his dismay. He groans, ignoring it for now and letting the blood drip down his chest as he fixes the rest of his appearance. After grooming his hair carefully-- has to look good for Mark-- and shaving away what little facial hair he's managed to grow, he wipes the blood off slowly.  
  
It's managed to drip down past his chest scars, and it makes his stomach churn when his fingers brush along them. Stupid fucking scars. He screws his eyes shut, not wanting to look at his own chest. Never came to terms with it, even with them gone.  _Mark would take pictures of him if he still had them_. The thought hurts more than it should, he finds himself looking down at the bloody sink. Gritting his teeth as hard as he can, he slams his fist into the mirror. It shatters around his fist; slivers of glass cutting up his already bruised knuckles. It hurts a lot more than when he's high, and he finds his eyes welling up with tears.  _You're such a crybaby, Nate_. He can hear Mark's voice echo around within his skull.  
  
Nathan's dorm looks like a murder scene; bleeding from his nose, foot, and now his knuckles. He doesn't  _care_. He's too numb to care. He bites the inside of his cheek, causing blood to seep through the thin skin he's chewed away gradually. He presses his thumbs into his eye sockets, closing them tightly and holding back a scream just begging to fall from his lips. He doesn't have  _time_  for a breakdown. He checks his phone-- fuck, he's already late. Mark's going to be pissed. He hurries about dressing himself, ignoring the fact that he's bleeding. He doesn't have time to care about it.  
  
It takes him longer than usual to find Mark's target and drug her. He brings her in nearly an hour off schedule, and Mark refuses to even look at him. It makes his heart sting; being ignored is worse than death. And that's how he's punished; forced to sit the shoot out and just watch Mark work. He doesn't entirely mind; high as can be now, watching Mark pivot around the drugged girl and work his magic. The longer he watches, the angrier he gets. Stupid  _fucking_  drugged whore getting all of his attention. What did she ever do? He grit his teeth, clenching his fists.  
  
Eventually he gets so angry he curls up, arms crossed, and forces himself to sleep. Attention seeking behaviour isn't going to get him anywhere tonight. Mark's too busy. Too busy for him. He sucks in a sharp breath, burying his head between his knees and closing his eyes tight.  
  
He comes to with a sharp sensation of pain; Mark's fingers twisted in his hair and yanking his head up. He yelps, eyes tearing up as he looks to Mark in confusion, fear. "What the fuck is  _that_?" Mark's tone is somewhere between angry and unamused, and Nathan yells as the man tugs at the jewelry in his nose. "I-I dunno, I lost s'me time," he stammers, trying to not feel like an animal backed into a corner. "I mean, I kinda like it--" his misguided thought is punished by another tug to his nose, and he cries out in pain.  
  
"Does that hurt? It should, ruining your face like that," his voice drips with nothing but disappointment, disgust. Nathan feels two inches tall, averting his eyes from Mark. Anger grips him suddenly-- like Mark gives a shit about his face all of a sudden? "What does m' face matter anyway? It's not like you're going to photograph it," he hisses out, voice weak but with enough bite that he knows what's coming next. He yells out as the back of Mark's hand makes contact with his cheek, knocking the breath out of him. Before he can do anything else, Mark's lips are against his ear, voice low and threatening.  
  
"You're  _mine_ , Nathan. You don't get to deface  _my_  property," he hisses, thumbing into the raw cheek, causing Nathan to whimper and melt. His, yes; his. Absolutely his. He takes in a sharp breath, closing his eyes. "'M sorry, daddy, 'm sorry," he whispers softly, tone soft and apologetic. Mark's chuckle against his ear makes his spine shudder. "You're so easy, Nathan. What a whore you are," he hums, pressing harder into the forming bruise. Nathan opens his mouth softly, releasing something between a whine and a moan. "You're not sorry enough, though. Not _yet_."  
  
Nathan can barely catch himself as he feels Mark's fingers travel back to his septum ring. Nothing can prepare him for what happens next. In one swift motion, Mark rips his hand back with a hard yank; ripping through the tissue of the boy's nose. His scream is deafening, voice crackling and shoving Mark away roughly, grasping his face. The clink of the ring against the floor can't be heard as Nathan continues to wail, his voice eventually giving out. Mark watches him cry and grovel, bleeding all over the couch.  
  
_Pathetic._


End file.
